


Dancing halls and the face you put on

by choppedmint (forevermint)



Series: The Road Not Taken [13]
Category: The Morganville Vampires - Rachel Caine
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Gen, Historical References
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-19
Updated: 2020-05-19
Packaged: 2021-03-03 00:00:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,069
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24265510
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/forevermint/pseuds/choppedmint
Summary: I added the rewrite in the "inspired by" portion as well. Technically it is a fairly decent change from this version.
Series: The Road Not Taken [13]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1558276





	Dancing halls and the face you put on

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [The Faces You Wear](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24265798) by [choppedmint (forevermint)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/forevermint/pseuds/choppedmint). 



> I added the rewrite in the "inspired by" portion as well. Technically it is a fairly decent change from this version.

Arthur had probably been twenty-two when he’d been invited to the dance. This had been back  
when his father had still had favor with the Queen and when that sort of thing had been expected. It  
wasn’t the first dance he’d been too. He didn’t think it would be the last. It wasn’t routine yet, but  
he had a good idea of how this sort of thing went. It was all very monotonous. There was a lot that  
was expected of him, but at least he wasn’t going to have to pay attention to any of it apart from for  
the night. He could forget about it as soon as it was over. It was rather basic; all Arthur had to do  
was hang around. There was always a loose expectation that he should dance, but he never wanted  
to. Usually he managed to avoid it.  
The clothing was fancy, as it usually was. They were heavy things that were also very hot. They  
stuck to Arthur’s skin with sweat, and he breathed out. It was tight as well, but maybe that was his  
chest. It was hard to breath when you were nervous. He was one of the first ones out, like he should  
have been, but he couldn’t really blame himself. These things were usual, but that didn’t mean that  
they were what he wanted to do with himself. He’d rather be looking though some back alley or  
wondering up on the hills. This was cramped, this was against his own nature. But he let his breath  
out, smoothing the pants out with his sweaty palms. It was a hot night. Summer was in full swing,  
but that never stopped the upper class. It was just another chance to show off and feel like all this  
mattered.  
“Gloomy thoughts again, Arthur?” asked an amused voice behind him. Arthur jumped, looking  
back at his father. He didn’t color, but he wanted to. His father always seemed to catch him at the  
wrong moments. He knew full well that must disappoint him. There was no way that John Dee  
liked a son who kept his head up in the clouds and liked any excuse to escape his responsibility.  
“I’m fine,” he answered. “Just a little hot.” Not a complete lie.  
He waved a hand into the room, pushing the door back into the activity again. “I should be getting  
back,” he said with a smile. It was amazing just how hard it was to act completely like he cared.  
Still … he was still up for the act. He could act the part. He could look like he was enjoying this.  
Someone at once attached himself to his side. An older man, looking like he wanted to get some  
sort of information from Arthur. Or perhaps tell him some information, to get it to his father, no  
doubt. It was clear he wasn’t completely into the fake conversation that revolved around the main  
point. Arthur tuned it all out, leaving his expression behind him to save his place. He payed  
attention to the music, nodding his head along to what was happening.  
Extricating himself from the conversation was the best thing he could have done, so at the most  
opportune time he did just that. He excused himself and headed off along the edge of the room,  
looking around for a familiar and friendly face. This wasn't so forth coming. There wasn’t really  
anybody here that he could at once recognize as a friend, much less catch a moment’s break with.  
As it was, if he was seen too long with one person then he would been seen as not engaging. This  
was worse than making a public fool of himself here. Apparently, that was preferable to being a  
dead bore.  
It made you want to scream, being at one of these things. Most of it was gossip, which he couldn’t  
get his head around. Then there were favorite pass-times, like ‘Wouldn’t you liked to meet my  
cousin. He’s this wonderful, rich fellow. Wont you introduce him to your father?’ or worse if the  
cousin was a female. It was like he was a personal ticket to his father, and if he was wanted for  
himself it was still attached to the title and all the finery.  
“Arthur!”  
Oh God. Not again.  
"Johansson!" he exclaimed, a winning smile on his face as he turned. "I didn't expect you to be  
here. What a pleasant surprise!" Did he have to sound so chipper? That was probably over doing it  
by no small degree. But really, around Johansson, who could blame him? It was the same as it  
always was, Johansson trying to get his attention for something infuriating. Often involving one of  
his sisters or getting an older brother that was supposedly just to talk to them but really, Arthur  
knew, was to show off that he was on a first name basis with John Dee’s son.  
Am I worth nothing for myself? asked the inner workings of Arthur’s head. The outer workings  
were still smiling like a wooden puppet and nodding along to whatever Johansson was saying. And  
what he was saying was something along the lines of how wonderful this dance was and how  
important Arthur’s father was and how Arthur must be so busy, but could he please find just a  
moment of spare time to come over …  
And so forth.  
Arthur walked after the other man, though every part of his brain that wasn’t controlling his legs  
wanted to run in the other direction, back to his room and his books and the occasional friend who  
actually cared an iota.  
This was not that.  
These people didn’t care about him.  
It was one of Johansson’s sisters again. At least it was one he’d met before. He wished they had  
some identification. Some feature to tell them apart. He was fairly sure Johansson had an ability to  
pull relatives of every age out of the woodwork. They all seemed to be carved from the exact same  
mold as Johansson.  
Arthur tried. He always tried. Each time he expected to at least enjoy whatever conversation that  
was attempted to start up. But it never seemed to get anywhere. He could talk politics and an array  
of other subjects, but they never brought any light to the conversation. There attempts to take an  
interest in his father’s – and his own – work just brought worse reactions. It wasn’t something they  
even began to understand, much less seriously took an interest in. Sometimes he asked one of the  
sisters to dance just to break up the monotony of it all.  
The smile broke this time. He blinked, and it fell from his face like shattered glass. This wasn’t the  
first time it slipped, but usually there were fewer people to see him stutter. Johansson looked at him  
curiously, now really asking, “Arthur, are you alright?”  
He wasn’t, but he reclaimed the broken pieces of his smile before too much damage was done. His  
heart fluttered against his ribcage, trying to break away from him just like his smile had. “I’m  
fine,” he said, a fake grimace on his face now. It wasn’t that hard to fake. “Just the heat. It’s  
sweltering.”  
Then there were a few chuckles and here heres and inwardly Arthur breathed a sigh of relieve as  
the attention returned to raising one’s standards. It left time for him to beat himself up about not  
having a backbone.  
Carefully, he started paying attention to the music, nodding at appropriate times to what anyone he  
talked to had to say. It was several minutes of this, his heart still rattling around in his chest, before  
he got to a corner. It wasn’t very privet, but he could press his back to the wall and breath for a  
second.  
“Arthur Dee, right?” asked someone to his lefts.  
Or not.  
The man turned, his expression still properly sculpted. His whole attention was on the fact that this  
was unfair. That he couldn’t even get a second to breath. But then he had to focus on the woman in  
front of him. He dipped his head a bit – it had already come to his attention that he didn’t show  
woman the proper attention and respect, but right now, after being interrupted, if he wasn’t  
bending over enough then everyone else could just …  
He cut the thought off, because it was completely and utterly unhelpful. Instead he focused on  
asking, “Was there something I can do for you, my lady?”  
Like leave? Or perhaps she hadn’t been addressing him at all and he could vainly hope there was  
another Arthur Dee around who somehow got this amount of attention. But he never had any luck  
on days like this.  
“Yes,” said the woman, and Arthur took a little to notice here that she might have been old enough  
to be his mother. “I wished to introduce –“  
Daughter, niece, or younger sister thought Arthur at once. With the small chance of being son, but  
that would be saying I was lucky and somehow could get out of this just by trying to play nice with  
a wet-behind-the-ears royal who couldn’t care less to know my name if it wasn’t attached to my  
father’s and sooner or later the Queen’s.  
“-Daughter,” finished the woman.  
And please give Arthur Dee the money he has bet and won, because this is all he is going to get  
from the next few minutes. And it’s a good chance I’ve already met this girl too, thought Arthur  
rather sorrowfully.  
But he smiled and said of course. What else could he say? He could refuse, but then were would  
that get him? In a bad way, that was for certain. He’d done it before and no matter what happened,  
it always seemed to come back and bite him. He’d lost a few supposed friends that way. And his  
father had ‘talked’ to him. Being the rebellious son with the name everyone knew was not how  
things should have gone. But there was no doubt that any slip-up he made would be recorded.  
Several hours passed. He ended up dancing with the daughter that he had indeed met before. It was  
the easiest way to stop her from trying to take an interest in him. At least in any pretense in talking.  
Instead, those several hours passed like a thawing of Winter. Slow, dripping, with the seconds  
coming like the drip of an iced over waterfall.  
And like all waterfalls there came the cracking outflow of water as soon as the thaw became too  
much.  
The first sign of such a thing was the pulling at Arthur’s gut. He didn’t think he’d felt his heart stop  
racing since this night started, but at least for a while it had gone back to almost normal. Not so  
anymore. The press for his attention continued and, in this case, the daughter he didn’t even  
remember the name of had not been so easily encouraged when he’d tried to push off to someone  
else. He found himself trying to take deeper breaths, excusing himself from conversations sooner.  
It was only, finally, as the night waxed, that he could escape with some of the first guests to leave.  
It was another black mark but being able to return to his room made it better.  
He pressed his back to the wall, finally able to breath, finally able to string two thoughts together.  
His expression dropped away, letting some of his real feelings of panic show through. The horrible  
idea that he was meant to be out there was worse than thinking he was out of place. He wanted to  
fit in, of course he did. He wanted to be useful to his father and respected and a dozen other things.  
But those people pressed against him, choking him in more ways than one, they were horrible  
things. He wanted to be so much better than this.  
Slowly, he slid down the wall, wishing for the thousandth time that it would be the last public  
event he ever attended. He never wanted to be like those people; they all just tried to make  
themselves more powerful. Even if that meant pulling someone else down or buttering up someone  
else. He pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes, still breathing with stuttering steps.  
Never.  
Never like them.

**Author's Note:**

> ORIGIN "Sorrow: Dancing halls and the face you put on": There were a handful of reasons  
> for writing this story. For one, I’d RPed Arthur having a nightmare which took place in a  
> ball ages ago. And because of that, I felt I needed to go a bit deeper and more realistically  
> instead of completely symbolical. Another was it was a good way to express how he had a  
> fake persona among the higher class - and really around a lot of people. The idea of that  
> much responsibility and limited freedom caused small panic attacks. It set the base-work  
> for his fight, much much later, with Myrnin


End file.
